by Joanna Shupe
“Thank you, Mr. Sloane.”
“You can thank me by being on time and working hard. I have one more request. Your sister is traveling to Albany next weekend to attend a political rally. I want to ensure you will take care of your younger siblings so that she needn’t worry.”
“Oh, Mary and Sam don’t need lookin’ after. They do just fine on their own.”
Will shook his head. “You’re the man of the house. Taking care of them is partly your responsibility. Can I count on you to relieve your sister of this burden? I would consider it a personal favor.”
The boy stood a bit taller, importance puffing him up as Will had hoped it would. “Of course, Mr. Sloane. Ava can go to wherever you need her.”
“Excellent.” Will clapped him on the shoulder. “I think we shall get along just fine.”
Chapter Seven
The Knickerbocker Club was only one of the many social clubs Will belonged to in New York. It was, however, the club he frequented most. There were no new undesirables at the Knick; all the members were of the upper set, men Will had known all his life. Men with names like Hamilton, Belmont, and Astor. Strict rules preserved the quality of the club, rules enforced with a heavy hand. Not any man could be admitted, even if he had the money to pay the steep membership fee.
Upholding tradition, more than the exclusivity, mattered to Will. His own grandfather had helped to found the Union Club, and Will had played an active part in moving the Knick to its current location, at Thirty-Second Street and Fifth Avenue.
“Good evening, Mr. Sloane. May I take your hat and cane?”
Will handed over the items to the attendant and smoothed back his hair. “Are the gentlemen upstairs?”
“Yes, sir. All but Mr. Cavanaugh. I am not aware if he has arrived yet.”
Will’s brother-in-law hated the club, so he preferred to come in through the kitchens and use the staff stairs, like a scullery maid. “Thank you, Colin. I shall be leaving directly after the conclusion of the meeting.”
“We’ll keep your carriage nearby, then, sir.”
Will strode through the quiet halls, well familiar with the wide doorways surrounded by ornate cornices and the tall windows framed by tasteful chintz drapery. From the classic paintings on the plaster walls to the plush Persian carpets adorning the floors, the interior had been designed with a masculine sensibility, where men of a certain standing could enjoy cigars and solitude.
A waiter was stationed outside the usual private room. He opened the door at Will’s approach, revealing the small group of wealthy and powerful men with whom Will had aligned himself. The four men met on the first Thursday of every month to assist each other with various business matters. Will preferred to think of it as plotting and scheming to rule the world, but with a dignified air.
“Hello, Sloane.” Calvin Cabot unfolded his lanky frame and extended a hand. Cabot was one of the most powerful publishers in New York and Chicago, and his newspapers had helped Will more than once in recent years. “Or should I say, Lieutenant Governor?”
“Not yet. Soon, though. Hello, Harper.” Will shook the hand of Theodore Harper, the financial genius behind the New American Bank. “How is your lovely wife?”
Harper’s face turned soft, true emotion breaking through his usual stoic demeanor. “She is well, thank you,” Harper said, and resumed his seat.
The door bounced open, and the hulking figure of Emmett Cavanaugh strolled in. He relinquished his hat, stick, and coat, then made his way to the table. Will sat, not bothering to greet his brother-in-law. The two of them had never liked each other, and not much had changed despite the fact that Lizzie had gone ahead and fallen in love with the oaf. Will and Cavanaugh tolerated each other for his sister’s sake, but barely.
Harper and Cabot made small talk with Cavanaugh while Will gave the waiter a nod to start drink service. A glass of 1868 Chateau Lafite appeared at Will’s elbow, a personal stock he kept on hand here at the club. Cabot received a lager, Harper his Kentucky bourbon, and a glass of clear liquid—likely procured from a back alley still—arrived for Cavanaugh.
“You and Bennett had quite a turnout in Yonkers,” Cabot said to Will. “The nomination is well in hand from what I hear.”
“I certainly hope so. We’ve another scheduled in Albany on Saturday, complete with a parade. It’ll be a relief when I don’t have to deal with the elephants and monkeys any longer.”
The reminder of Albany brought Ava to mind, specifically the kiss he couldn’t stop thinking about. The experience had been every bit as delectable as he’d feared, a small taste to stoke fires he had no business igniting in the first place. Brazen, confident, and determined, she’d kissed him like a dying wish, and Will had enjoyed every damn moment. Too much, perhaps, as the soreness of his right wrist could attest.
Cavanaugh let out a noise. “That’s all Albany’s got, elephants and monkeys.”
“True enough,” Harper said with a chuckle. “But Sloane, I don’t understand how you’re going to continue to run the company if you win. You’ve never given up control of Northeast before.”
“I’ll manage.”
No one asked for details, but skepticism permeated the room. Will didn’t care because he planned to manage the business as well as a political career. He would achieve greater heights than his father, even if he died trying. The idea brought him a sense of smug satisfaction. It would kill his father all over again to learn that Will had been elected lieutenant governor.
The four of them turned to business. Harper and Cabot negotiated a quid pro quo to do with the Chicago Produce Exchange, while Will agreed to drive up transit prices on one of Cavanaugh’s competitors in exchange for assistance with a growing labor problem. They all decided, at Harper’s urging, to invest in a restaurant with an impressive young French chef at the helm.
This went on for over an hour. Finally, with drinks drained and talk turning to non-business matters, Will stood. “I’ve got an appointment, gentlemen. If we’re finished, I’ll bid you good night.”
Cavanaugh came to his feet as well. “Wait, Sloane. I need a moment.”
“Should one of us stay to serve as a referee?” Cabot asked. The request was a reasonable one; Cavanaugh and Will had thrown punches at each other before.
“Not tonight,” Cavanaugh said, shaking his head. “I don’t feel like hitting him yet.”
“Hilarious,” Will drawled. “God knows what my sister sees in you, because it’s not your sense of humor.”
“Oh, I know exactly what she sees in me,” Cavanaugh said, smirking. “Would you like me to enumerate a few of the more interesting reasons?”
“Not if you want to breathe through your nose anytime soon,” Will snapped. “Now, what do you want? I have a dinner party to attend.” One of his marital prospects would be in attendance, and he was anxious to see how she measured up.
Cavanaugh cleared his throat. “Elizabeth would like you to join us for dinner next week. We’re leaving for Newport soon, and I don’t want her traveling more than absolutely necessary in her delicate condition.”
Will wanted to see his sister, but did he have to go to Cavanaugh’s mansion to do it? He clenched his teeth, unable to say the words of acceptance.
“I know how you feel,” Cavanaugh allowed. “Sitting with you in my dining room is not my idea of an enjoyable evening either, but I am tolerating it to keep my wife happy. And when my wife is happy, good things occur in my house.”
That statement caused nausea to roll in Will’s stomach. Jesus, did the man have any sense of decency whatsoever? “Cease discussing my sister in such a disrespectful manner.”
Cavanaugh quirked a brow. “I married her, Sloane. I love her, and, by some miracle, she loves me as well. You’d best accustom yourself to the idea.”
Before Will could inform his brother-in-law that he’d never accustom himself to the idea, Cavanaugh turned to Harper. “Perhaps you and Mrs. Harper would come as well? At least then I’ll have someone to
talk with.”
“I’m sure Mrs. Harper would like that. She is fond of your wife. Thank you.”
“Cabot?” Cavanaugh asked. “Want to join in?”
The publisher shook his head. “I’m traveling to Chicago on Sunday.”
“Well?” Cavanaugh crossed his arms over his barrel chest and glared at Will. “What should I tell her?”
Damn. “I’ll be there.” Then he blurted, “Any night but Monday.” He had no plans to attend Ava’s performance but preferred to leave the option open just in case.
For some reason, he’d come to look forward to seeing her, a bright scintillating spot in his otherwise dull week.
* * *
She loathed to admit it, but riding the train out of New York was exciting.
Ava sat by the window in a passenger car, avidly watching the green, lush farmland roll by on her first time outside the city. As promised, a ticket had been delivered to her home. No note included, but she hadn’t expected one. She’d neither seen nor heard from Will since he helped retrieve Tom from the police, the night they had shared that toe-curling kiss. Or, as the incident had come to be known in Ava’s mind, The Mistake.
It had been a mistake to kiss him. Even though it had been wildly improper, the kiss had consumed her every free thought during the last week. Had she imagined his passion, his intensity? The way his fingertips had dug into her skin? The desperate gasps of breath against her mouth?
No, indeed she had not—and the experience had been a revelation. Much more made up the polished and proper Will Sloane than she’d previously believed. The discovery surprised her, and she’d enjoyed kissing him—far more than she should have, in fact. She’d been overcome, like standing in the waves at Coney Island Beach. A rush that swept her away, took her feet out from under her.
Dangerous, that sensation. Ava no longer had the luxury of indulging in such frivolity without knowing the consequences, things like heartbreak, humiliation . . . or worse. During her affair with Stephen, her one and only lover, Ava had conceived a child. Stupidly, she’d assumed he would be thrilled. After all, he’d often talked about them being together. . . and surely a child meant their future would begin.
How wrong she’d been. How utterly wrong.
The van Dunns were an upper-middle-class family, and Stephen had been full of reasons why he could not see her again. His father would not approve of the eldest son marrying so beneath him. Ava would never fit into his world. Without any money, how would they support themselves? And on and on went the excuses....
She sighed and closed her eyes, fighting the familiar ache in her chest. So much regret. So much sorrow. She had miscarried in the third month, not that Stephen had even inquired. She’d been fired from her position in his father’s office as soon as she’d conceived, and that had been that. Stephen had washed his hands of her.
So yes, Will Sloane was dangerous. Ava would not make the same mistake twice.
Just then, Albany was announced. Having never attended a political rally before, she had no idea what awaited her when she left the train. Politics generally baffled Ava. Women were ignored or belittled, while men argued and carried on like children. In the city, the drunken campaign clubs would spill out of saloons to brandish torches in the streets, a march that generally ended in a brawl somewhere.
Why Will would want to join their corrupt ranks, she could not fathom. He had considerable power and wealth already. Was it not enough?
Disembarking, she stepped onto the platform and glanced around, shielding her eyes from the midday sun. Passengers hustled to and fro, jostling her shoulders and arms. So which way was the rally?
“Miss Jones?”
Ava found a stout, older man with a bushy mustache standing there. He seemed perfectly normal, but years in a crowded city had taught her well. “Who wants to know?”
He tipped his hat. “Good afternoon, miss. My name is Charles Tompkins. I serve as the advisor to both Mr. Bennett and Mr. Sloane on the campaign. I’ve been sent to collect you for the rally.”
“Oh. Thank you.” Will must have arranged this, and she was grateful for his consideration. Though she had never met Mr. Tompkins before, John routinely asked Madam Zolikoff questions regarding the advisor. Had Tompkins lied? Did he have John’s best interests at heart? Madam Zolikoff encouraged caution because she hadn’t firsthand knowledge of the man. Perhaps today would be useful after all.
She waved a hand toward the crowd. “I am ready, Mr. Tompkins. Lead on.”
Minutes later, they found his waiting carriage, and he helped her inside. As they bounced and swayed along the street, Ava watched the throngs of people from the window. Astonishing how many men and women had gathered, some standing and talking, some walking in the same direction as the carriage. It was as if everyone within ten miles of Albany had turned out for today’s event.
“Have you ever been to a political rally before, Miss Jones?”
“No, I haven’t. I don’t care for politics.”
“Surprising, then, that Mr. Sloane would invite you up from the city.”
He obviously wanted Ava to fill in the details, which she would do approximately never. This outing could not conclude fast enough for her liking, and her reasons for being here were no one’s business. A mélange of red and blue out the window caught her attention. “Who is that group on the rise wearing the blue coats and the red armbands?”
“Those, my dear, are members of the Bennett Band, our supporters here in Albany. Each town calls the campaign club something different, though we do have more than one Bennett Band. Both Schenectady and Saratoga Springs use that name as well.”
She nodded as if interested, though she didn’t understand why it needed to be so complicated. Voting should be simple, yet America’s electoral procedure seemed more like a drunken circus rife with corruption.
“The agenda for the day is simple,” he continued. “First, there’ll be a march and parade, then everyone will partake in a public barbecue on the statehouse lawn. Bennett and Sloane will speak briefly and then the revelry will continue well into the night.”
Perhaps, but not for her. She planned to be on an afternoon train that would bring her home before dark. Her agenda did not include staying in Albany one minute longer than necessary.
“And you think this will encourage votes in the fall?”
He nodded, his fingers stroking his long mustache. “It’s about encouraging growth in our own party, which will translate to votes, yes. Mr. Sloane did not tell me how the two of you are acquainted. Are you a friend of the family?”
“One could say that.”
A loaded silence descended until he said, “I feel as though I’ve seen you before. An event or a party . . . a performance, perhaps?”
No telling if he truly did recognize her, or if he was trying to reveal her as Will’s mistress. Both were unsettling ideas, though for altogether different reasons. She doubted, however, he would see a resemblance to Madam Zolikoff, not without a blond wig and heavy stage cosmetics. “I seriously doubt it.”
“Fair enough, fair enough—and here we’ve arrived. I asked the driver to put you near the end of the route. It’ll be an easier walk to the statehouse lawn afterward.”
The carriage slowed to a stop, and Tompkins descended. He helped her down and then pointed across the street. “The best spot will be there, at that corner. I’ll see you at the luncheon. Enjoy the parade, Miss Jones.”
“Thank you.” She opened her parasol, one of the few remaining items she possessed that had belonged to her mother, and used it to cast shade on her face. Crossing the street took some effort, as the crowds were thicker here. Men in black derby hats and women in bonnets were everywhere, and Ava marveled at the number of people who’d come out to see Will and John. Did every rally attract this many supporters?
Will hoped to impress on her that she was a risk to their campaign. Hard to believe she could cause any significant damage, even if the horde of people gathered here w
eren’t all supporters. How could a campaign with two such well-known figures, backed by the Sloane fortune, lose?
She worked her way into the crowd on the corner, not really concerned with her vantage point. Yes, she agreed to attend the parade, but she’d never promised to enjoy it.
* * *
Will propped a shoulder against the window frame and sipped his drink. The parade was well underway, a sea of blue and red marching through the streets with instruments and banners. He and Bennett comfortably watched the revelry from a second-floor room across the street while the Bennett Band entertained the crowd. As usual, the two candidates wouldn’t appear until the barbecue.
He tried not to search the crowd for Ava. She should be somewhere in that mob, no doubt miserable and plotting an escape. But she would attend the luncheon; his threat ensured it.
“Another glorious day,” Tompkins announced as he entered. “Looks like every voter between here and Schenectady showed up.”
“Yes, fine work, Charles,” Bennett said. “The brass band of young women at the beginning was inspired.”
“I thought so.” Tompkins glanced out the window. “Your friend, Miss Jones, arrived safely. I dropped her at the corner, right where the parade turns south toward the statehouse.”
Just below his current vantage point. “Thank you. I appreciate your going to the station to welcome her.” Will had wanted to go himself, but the desire to see her again was a dangerous one. He should stay away from her, not shuttle her about to and fro.
“Better me than you. Can’t have one of our candidates shuffling off to the station like a footman.”
They watched the proceedings in silence for a few minutes. Tompkins cleared his throat. “Incidentally, is there any romantic involvement between the two of you?”
Will’s fingers tightened on the crystal glass in his hand. “You don’t seriously expect me to answer that, do you?”
“No, but the girl looks familiar. I feel as if I’ve seen her somewhere before.”
“I doubt it.” Will was sure Tompkins hadn’t met Madam Zolikoff in person, but perhaps he was wrong. “And you won’t see her again after today.”
